


Fairytale

by SharpestRose



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-08
Updated: 2011-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-21 03:52:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharpestRose/pseuds/SharpestRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was like catching soap bubbles on the wind, Sam thought ruefully. On the rare times that one came into view, it was gone into thin air before a hobbit could blink and grasp for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fairytale

"Coffee."

Frodo's hair was a knotted mess around his face, eyes shadowed by sleep and a deep aversion to the morning light. Sam, making an omelette by the open kitchen window, pointed to the table.

"Black, three sugars."

"Mmphm," Frodo said by way of thanks, sitting down and wincing at the sound of the fork hitting the side of the bowl as Sam whisked the mixture. "Do you have to do that so early?"

"It's well past ten, and when you're hungry in another half hour you'll be complaining if nothing's ready," Sam replied, not pausing in his brisk movements.

"Sa-am," pleaded Frodo, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his good hand. "Not right now."

"Yes," Sam insisted. "I haven't been home to my Gaffer since night before last, and the whitewash needs another coating before the curtains can be hung in his room."

"Jon Rumble and his brothers said they'd do that, Sam."

"Well, they can't cook a decent breakfast and, unlike some folk I could name, my Gaffer likes the food I make him."

"Don't be like that," Frodo snapped, voice sounding a little more annoyed than he intended. "You know I love your cooking. But my head's sore as anything this morning and I'm quite sure you're making more noise than necessary just to teach me a lesson."

"Why on earth would I need to do that? You're far from being a tween, if I may say so, and would have learnt for sure by now that too many ales and not enough dinner means headaches in the morning," said Sam, whose omelette was well and truly beaten by now but who continued to clink the fork through the fluffy mix.

"Oh, yes, Mr Gamgee, I'd forgotten that you've never had a bleary morning of regret in your life." Frodo's peevish mood wasn't helped by the fact his coffee was cold to sip. "Would you stop that noise? Please Sam, just stop it. You know my health -"

"Don't go playing that card with me!" Now Sam did stop, turning to glare down at where Frodo sat. "Don't you take those times where I was worried to death about you and make them cheap by comparing. I told you when you'd had enough to drink and you ignored it, and I'm not going to be made guilty for that."

"Don't go using your Gaffer as an excuse for everything, then." Frodo pushed the cold coffee away in disgust and stood. "The widow Rumble and her boys are taking perfectly good care of him, and we both know it. Whenever you get tired of looking after me you run off with some story about him and I don't see you for days."

"So now a wealthy gentlehobbit's in need of more coddling than an old gardener with pains in his legs, then?" Sam never shouted at Frodo, but somehow the even snap of his words was worse than a raised voice would have been.

"This isn't about your Gaffer and we both know it."

"Of course not." _For as usual it's about **you**_ , Sam wanted to say. He bit the words off before he could breathe them, knowing he was caught up in the argument and would say things he'd regret when he cooled off. "I think I'd best be going, Mr Frodo." He headed for the door.

"Sam... Sam, don't go, don't be like that." Frodo followed him to the doorway, hovering on the edge of the midmorning brightness outside. "I'm sorry. You're right, I did have too much to drink last night and it's not fair that you have to put up with me."

Sam stopped and turned, the annoyance gone out of him. "It ain't puttin' up, sir. I like taking care of you, and helping with putting Bag End to rights. I've just got things that need sorting in my head, and you and your moods don't make it easier." He sighed.

"Come back inside where it's... dark." Frodo laughed a little as he gave up his search for a more eloquent word, holding a hand out to Sam. "Please, my head is objecting loudly to this sunlight. I want to talk to you, dear Sam, and I promise not to get into one of my moods."

"All right, then," Sam's voice was grudging but he gave Frodo a small grin. "I'll leave that omelette until later."

"Good. Come on, let's sit in the parlour. I want to know what's put you in this knot of worry."

They sat down on two of the low armchairs, the most comfortable furniture in the slightly overcrowded room. The things from Crickhollow and the things that had been in the room when Frodo took ownership of the smial were all jumbled up together, and it made the atmosphere comfortably hectic.

"Now, what is it?"

Sam shook his head. "Don't matter for now. It's not the sort of discussion for just after an argument, anyway."

"You call _that_ an argument? You should have heard the rows I had with Bilbo when I was a tween."

"I did, occasionally." Sam's laugh was gently teasing. "Fighting with you puts me out of sorts, Mr Frodo, and I'm sorry for what I said."

"No, you were right, and I'm the one who should be sorry. At least neither of us let our tongues say things that can't be mended with apologies." Frodo put his hand to his head again and sighed. "I think I'm going to go back to bed and try starting this day over again. Come with me?"

Sam felt a renewed flare of annoyance at that, because there _were_ a dozen things that needed doing in what was left of the day, and Frodo _knew_ that Sam wouldn't say no. But the annoyance was more at himself than anything else, for being so easily led astray from his tasks by a bad-tempered, hung-over and sleep-rumpled hobbit.

"Now you want me, when it suits you. Last night when I had a mind for it you were too busy snoring," the words were light, and Frodo ignored the scold underneath with a blithe shrug as they walked together.

"You mean there are times when you don't have a mind for it, Sam? Rare occasions indeed."

"Almost as rare as the times when you're thinking in that direction at all, then."

Frodo paused, leaning back against the curve of the hallway wall, and laughed. "Oh, Sam, don't be grumpy with me. I must be terribly trying for you, I know that."

Sam nodded cheerfully, the last of his bad mood passing. "Yes, you're right in that. I can't decide if you're more dithery now than you were before we went off travelling, or if I just notice it clearer now that I'm... well, more a part of your everyday ways."

"I think the word you're trying frantically to avoid using is _lover_ ," Frodo joked, pushing the bedroom door open and flopping down onto his unmade covers.

"No, sir. _Beloved_ I can see, but I wasn't going to say 'now that I'm your beloved', for it sounds wrong. But not lover, even with the tumbling that we do. For one, we're more friendly than any pair that end up husband and wife that I've seen, and for another there's hardly enough loverin' going on to warrant the word." Sam sat down next to Frodo and tried to get comfortable on the pillows.

"I know I'm a bit of a cold fish," agreed Frodo. "And I know it must be, well, frustrating for someone of your disposition to put up with a bedmate so lacking in interest. But I love you, Sam, and I hope you know that." His eyes were a little clearer now, the cobwebs left over from a night of drinking slowly swept away.

"And I love you, Mr Frodo, more than I have words to rightly say." Sam allowed Frodo to curl up beside him, apparently past his momentary interest in a bedroom romp.

It was like catching soap bubbles on the wind, Sam thought ruefully. On the rare times that one came into view, it was gone into thin air before a hobbit could blink and grasp for it.

"Mmm." The sound Frodo made was near to a purr, one hand tracing lazy patterns across Sam's shirt. It was the damaged hand, the four remaining nails ragged from gnawing. "I never thought I could be so lucky."

The sound of peace in Frodo's voice was so sure, so total, that it made the churning worry in Sam's head settle for the time being. Everything would work itself out, somehow.

Frodo stayed like that, dozing happily, for a short while, then cracked one eye open and looked up at Sam. "You know, I do believe my appetite's back. Is anything ready to be eaten?"

Sam couldn't decide whether to roll his eyes or laugh.


End file.
